


Ring-A-Ding-Ding

by Peacockery



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Attempt at Humor, BLU Feelings, Dramatic Irony, M/M, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24255184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peacockery/pseuds/Peacockery
Summary: The BLU Heavy discovers the Dead Ringer that his fellow Spy dropped during a mission, and now the rogue wants it back. Things get wonky.
Relationships: Heavy/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been struggling in a hiatus for a long time now, and figured writing something entirely different would help- it did! This is actually a much larger story but I instead broke it into two parts to make it an easier read.
> 
> The punny title also comes from the song by Frank Sinatra, which I found even more fitting.

The pocket watch seemed so ordinary to him. It was shiny and emblazoned with the sigil of a hummingbird, almost slippery in the sweat of his hands. When his large fingers grazed over the latch, he felt it spring open in his palms. The interior was strange and extravagant, just as out of place in this dusty crapshoot of a world as he was. 

The BLU Heavy had been inspecting the device from the comfort of his desk, noting the tiny gears and delicate hands ticking along the watch face as well as his own reflection peering back at him from the large black lens. It was fixed in the center of a black mold that felt grainy to the touch and gave Heavy the impression of a dark eye staring up at him.

He had been timid of doing anything else until he found his nerves after dinner, spurred on by a few too many beers and a hot meal fanning his courage.

Heavy had found the device in the dust by the payload tracks earlier that day and had been baffled as to why it hadn’t been noticed by any of the others. He had seen it flickering like a beacon under the glare of the desert sun, tempting his curiosity from beyond the smoke of his gun. Medic had been shouting in mixed tongues behind him, Scout was kicking up dust and there had been a smell of burning cotton and skin coming from Heavy’s left flank...the cruelties of war had almost wiped the watch from his focus then and there. It was only after a stalemate left both sides exhausted and losing blood that the Badwater Basin felt safe to traverse again.

He had been the only one that chose to linger behind after his men limped base. The silent cold of night had crept through the waning dust to tempt him back, away from the curses that fouled the desert. He remembered his heartbeat racing like a tribal drum in this old west, warning him of disaster as he kneeled down to reach for that shiny artifact glaring up at him.

Now in the privacy of his quarters, he knew that he still wasn’t truly safe. The fact that a dagger hadn’t pierced his back before was more troubling than sitting in dead silence with the gadget in his hand. There was a very real possibility that its owner had been there near the tracks with him, hidden in the dusty winds while following him back. Heavy felt his back tightening at the thought of the rogue behind him now, either close to breathing down his neck or pressed tightly in a corner like a readied spider, waiting for just the right moment.

It might have been now, right as Heavy’s thumb accidentally pushed against the prominent button on the shell.

He gasped as he watched the black mold shifting to reveal white panels on the right side that looked like buttons but it was the dark lens that spooked him. It switched to a dark blue shade and displayed a green reticle that segmented further into bars. Heavy could feel the faintest buzzes of machinery against his palm and it was like staring into the eye of some unholy creature. The feeling of dread that overcame him was something he didn’t want to prolong. He clasped it shut and had only just placed it back on his desk when he heard a firm rapping at his door.

The Russian looked over his shoulder, quiet. Never in his life had a slab of chipped metal looked so imposing but the Heavy was no coward. He snorted and pushed himself out of his chair, his knuckles cracking in his fists as he built himself tall and large.

On the other side, standing behind a plume of smoke was the BLU Spy. He was holding his cigarette in an upturned hand in the same manner that reminded Heavy of the pinups in Demoman’s calendars. If he hadn’t been so startled, he would have laughed right in the Frenchman’s face over the uncanniness. He found the pose sassy and effeminate, which was not helping the rogue as Spy was easily dwarfed by the shadow of the team muscle.

“You have something of mine.” The rogue took a puff. Heavy blinked and dropped his shoulders.

“Da.” He replied but made no effort to move. Spy groaned.

“It is humiliating enough to come groveling to you but let us exchange like gentlemen and never speak of this again.” He was rubbing one of his temples.

There was a bite to his words but the assassin stood so confidently by them, arms behind his back like the commander on his own sinking ship. Heavy wasn’t fooled and instead just stood taller in the doorway.

“Tiny Spy dropped his toy. Is messy fighter for being so sneaky.” He countered.The audacity of it all made him grin and cross his arms as well as his ankles as he took to leaning against the archway. Spy sighed and almost rolled his head out of exasperation.

“Charming. It was a moment of weakness. Please…” He gestured to be let in. Heavy just snorted.

“What is in it for me?” He purred. This was interesting. He never would have guessed that his own resident sneak would be so jumpy around him. Of course, Heavy knew that all Spies were shrewd about their secrets and would rather chew cyanide than to admit defeat.

He hadn’t been debating on just giving the thing back, to be honest; it was too funny to him. His Spy would never be so butterfingered to just drop his own tools in the middle of a fight, coming from Heavy’s own experiences in seeing the astonishing amount of knives that the Frenchman could hide away on his person. Spy wasn’t currently as amused as he was, instead just glaring at him with those shiny blue eyes.

They caught Heavy’s attention fast.

The silence was tense between them. Spy must have carefully been choosing his words so as to not act strangely. He prided himself on his touch of class, Heavy noticed. Finally, the rogue puffed out smoke and tapped some ash off his cigarette, right onto the floor. Heavy thought that was a crass mood and Spy smiled for it.

“Don’t waste my time by acting so smart. I am not going to make you a sandwich or rub your gun. What you can get is me not paying you a visit while you sleep.” Either his words hit or not was of no importance to him, he was just thankful that Heavy finally relented back with a sigh to let him in. There was a light chuckle behind him that made his cheeks burn beneath his hood.

Bastards, all of them.

“What brings nice Spy so late?” Heavy asked behind him. Spy’s fingers were hovering over the watch but they twitched in annoyance. The Russian’s footsteps were getting louder behind him. “Have been waiting with watch all day.”

Watch? Spy had to prevent himself from rolling his eyes as he straightened himself. Watch. Of course the barbarian would find his technology too complex. Nevertheless, he picked up his Dead Ringer and tucked it inside of his coat.

“We have been on the same team for months and you have not learned that I value my privacy?” He asked while slowly pivoting on his heels. Looking up at the fathead now, Spy’s wrist scratched against the knife tucked under his sleeve; he hated close conversations. “...Stop giving me that look. You are not getting the key to my smoking room either.”

He took a step back and felt the rim of the table pressing against the small of his back, but that was a welcome sensation compared to the downright beguiled gaze the giant was giving him...or that large, toothy smile that preceded a deep chuckle.

Heavy nodded, letting the insults roll off his back as he was once again towering over the shorter man.

“Hm, da. Yes, have been thinking just now. Months and months of teamwork and we have not talked much.” He rubbed his chin and smiled. “Is fascinating to Heavy.” He was trying to speak slower, trying to find the best English. 

Was it to impress? That was a question that made Spy’s eye twitch as he sank back against the table. He didn’t need his keen intuition now to remind him that he was now sandwiched between furniture, a wall and a very large mountain of muscle. Well played, fat man.

“I am not one for tea talk.” Spy countered. The BLU Heavy was just as agitating as the RED’s was, stubborn up front and incessant behind his big tough bandolier. It bothered the Frenchman. If he could only gain a few more inches of distance, he could easily slip under the other mercenary’s arm and be gone in a puff of smoke.

Heavy was not dissuaded by the cold shoulder and instead placed one meaty hand on the table beside his teammate, the other on his hip. The simple shift forced his face even closer to the sharp nose of the rogue and it was so very clearly a suave pose that it made Spy want to choke on his own tongue than to look at it much longer.

He flinched underneath the deep gusts of air coming from the giant’s nose but the Russian didn’t notice as his eyes were closed. Heavy could smell the musk of the thinner man, finding a tart mix of tang and spice hitting his nostrils. It was a very clean smell, not a trace of sweat he could detect which suggested that Spy had gone through all this trouble of cleaning up after the day’s bloodbath. Curious…

When he finally opened his eyes, Heavy became aware that Spy had been slinking further and further beneath him, his face twisted in silent agitation and his right hand noticeably twitching. Heavy felt a pang of guilt; perhaps he had overdone it.

There was a sigh of relief after he leaned back and it didn’t come from him. Spy almost looked like he was cowering from how he was almost perching against the desk, his eyes wide and limbs crooked in odd poses. He quickly resumed his full height and adjusted his suit while snorting, furious.

Heavy winced. How someone so small compared to him could make him nervous was quite the feat.

“Was just playing-”

“Spare me your swooning, you degenerate.” Spy was puffing and bristling like a spurned cat as he shoved past. He halted in mid step upon realizing that the heavy iron door had now been shut, seemingly on its own. His head slowly turned to give Heavy a spiteful look. “...did you honestly just lock me in.”

Heavy felt like a child being scolded. He played with his hands and stared dumbly at the door. Did he?

“Must have bumped knob with hip…” His weak joke curdled in his mouth as the glare he received made him regret his words. Spy was back to face him, a knife in one hand and the Russian’s shirt in the other. Heavy had no idea where that weapon had been hiding but for all he knew it probably came from the French viper’s barbed tongue.

“You are fortunate that we are contractually obligated to not harm each other.” The rogue snarled from behind his mask, his pupils like black dots in beds of ice. Heavy had no choice but to raise his arms in defense while he was guided backwards.

“We will not speak of the incident earlier. If I find out that deadbolt is set then there is no promise that there won’t be another tonight.” He effortlessly spun the blade around in his fingers so that he could jab the blunted pommel against one of Heavy’s ribs. From the grip he had alone, Spy could have easily walked his scrawny legs right up the big man’s torso to go in for a throat gouge if he so wished. He watched Heavy’s large hands slip back to his sides, head hanging after.

"Made mistake.” The giant man said. He waited until Spy felt convinced enough to let go so that he was able to lumber back to the door and open it. It wasn’t locked but Heavy didn’t announce it. After giving the old knob a twist and a firm yank, he stepped aside and gave generous space for the rogue to slip by. “Go. You have watch back.”

There was a quiet fury kindling in his stomach as he turned for his bed, knowing that at any moment the nerves in his back could be punctured. He waited until he heard the light padding steps behind him before he dipped to the floor and reached under a draped blanket.

He was a quiet son of a bitch when he wanted to be. A youth spent hunting wild boar up near the border of Siberia had trained him to channel his weight so efficiently that not even the snow crunched beneath his weight. Even now, the old soles of his combat boots hardly made a peep as he carefully aligned himself in the doorway. Spy was miraculously still there, the confident bastard. His back was turned to the Russian, still within reaching distance. By the jittering of his arms, he appeared to be fiddling with something while swearing in French. Heavy twisted his heel against the concrete to make it squeak.

When Spy turned quick to draw his gun, he was met with a shotgun blast to the face.

Heavy’s ears were ringing and his eyes watered as the hallway filled with an inappropriate amount of smoke. He could could see that beyond the fog there had been a corpse that had ragdolled out of the blast zone and ended up smashing against a nearby janitor’s cart, where it was laying now in a cartoonish heap. Heavy was panting to control himself and he shook his head while trying to collect his senses through the smoke.

Given that he lived with other psychopaths who treated demolitions and guns like toys, he hadn’t expected anyone at this hour to come rushing out to investigate. All that was around was just him, a clean body and the ghostly sound of what he swore were fading clicks against the concret. Heavy snorted and lowered his gun.

“You are SLOPPY SPY.”

He was mindful this time to close the door behind him but he sighed and tossed the shotgun onto his bed after hearing another knock behind him. It was lighter in tone, like a one-knuckle tap that reminded him of a woodpecker. Too delicate to be Soldier, too polite to be Scout. Heavy groaned and palmed at his face as he returned to the door, annoyed.

He was surprised to find Spy there again. The man was rolling an unlit cigarette while raising a brow.

"Were you tucking yourself in with C-4?” He asked.

Heavy just stared at him until he kicked himself out of his stupor and glanced beyond Spy’s shoulder. The corpse was gone, not even thirty seconds by his estimates - impossible even by standard Respawn protocol. 

Heavy knocked Spy aside as he beelined for the impact spot and sank into a squat, hands on knees. He didn’t think himself the delirious sort in that only three cans of beer was enough to make him hallucinate but no matter how hard he squinted, Heavy couldn’t find any trace of evidence that he had just knocked Spy’s head down to his ass. No blood spatters, no torn fabric, nothing.

“That is a fine wall you are looking at. I see it is more interesting than myself.” Spy deadpanned behind him. He canted his head and smiled when Heavy returned to face him.

Heavy’s face was unreadable for a moment, clearly processing. He resumed his full height and looked over Spy again, finding the same embellished pose the rogue appeared to have been emulating earlier: holding his unlit cigarette in an upturn hand, one palm on an elbow and one leg crossed over the other, Heavy noticed now. 

The Russian took one step to the Frenchman but paused, eyebrows settling in a suspicious furrow as he remembered Spies and their tricks.

“You...felt nothing?”

Spy just laughed and walked to Heavy’s side instead, facing the opposite direction now to have his turn at inspecting the intriguing nothingness.

“I feel a rock in my left shoe and my shirt tag scratching is at my neck but I suppose those are not the answers that you want.”

The playful charm in his voice made the other man sigh. Spy bounced his cigarette between his knuckles as he saw Heavy in his peripherals, them both staring at each other. It reminded him of the old French mystery flicks he used to watch as a boy, of the suave law bringer being cornered by a thug. 

“...I’m not who you-”

“Take me to your smoking room.” Heavy clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, testing him. Spy finally looked at him head-on and Heavy squinted hard into dull blue eyes. Something was different. Spy’s brows raised in parallel to his.

“I see you’ve been “Spy-Checking”,” The rogue smiled and tucked his cigarette back into his breast pocket. “That must make me a dead-ringer for the one you just shot,  _ non _ ?” His smug look was almost lazy as he had long pieced together what his partner was deciphering now. “I’m impressed. You blew the decoy’s head clean off and scared away a narcissist. You’ll have to tell me how you lured and tricked  _ mon cher homologue  _ so effortlessly.” 

Heavy blinked at him, head still reeling. 

“Is...safe to discuss this here?” He had been half-hearted earlier about the demand but Spy hand waved him.

“For this? _Oui_ _.  _ I’ll spare no second in humbling that insufferable egomaniac when I have the chance.” He slipped a hand into his breast coat and retrieved his revolver. 

Heavy grabbed him by his free hand to stop him, thankful for once that his large dimensions actually served him well. If the RED Spy was still lurking around, there would be no feasible way he would see his BLU counterpart squeezing the giant's hand as the two BLU mercenaries looked at one another. Heavy's expression changed entirely from the tender hold and he could feel his exhale dropping the weight in his shoulders as he let go, relieved. He smiled kindly, as did his Spy. The rogue gave him a nod and placed his hand on the Russian's bicep.  


“Give me twenty minutes, _moy mishka_. I need to do some cleaning first.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BLU Heavy didn't need to pick up the habit in order to enjoy himself in his Spy's elusive Smoking Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned earlier that it would only be a few days after the first chapter that I would post the second. Due to life circumstances however I was very much off that mark. I hope this is still worth the wait!

It was common knowledge that the RED team’s Spy was incredibly reclusive, to the point that not even his own crew knew of what his Smoking Room looked like other than the fact that it definitely existed. It amused the BLU Spy to see just how much he and his rival had in common...to a degree. Unlike the stuffy braggart, the humble rogue of Builders League United didn’t care if there was a glowing neon sign above his own lair as he wasn’t a total bastard to his men.

During all of his own sneaking through the RED base, he had gotten some reliable evidence that his counterpart hid his private space in the belly of the building, but the BLU Spy preferred his own personal lounge to have a little more light. 

Within the first month of his contract with B.L.U., he had scoped his own base and found that there was a massive section of attic that had been divided into makeshift warehouses for lighter equipment, parts and other expected cargo. It produced a classic rat’s maze when reproduced onto paper and it was his Engineer who had discovered a pocket of space that hadn’t been accounted for. It was this lone mystery room hidden among the winding halls that made for the perfect nest for a respectable rogue.

The BLU Spy had spent the ensuing weeks slipping through the pathways to clean out the dusty space, himself being the only one who had felt comfortable in walking through such tight and dim conditions to rightfully claim ownership of it. Aside from his Heavy working alongside Engineer in bringing up spare furniture and working on rerouting the electrical logistics, none of the other mercenaries on his team expressed any interest in making such a claustrophobic trek up to a Spy den. It was doubtful that the RED Spy would even know about it, let alone find the time and energy to stray from the tempting archives and personal quarters far below.

In thanks to the BLU Engineer’s kindness, the soundproofing in this cozy nook allowed the BLU assassin to play his phonograph without issue as he helped himself to uncapping a bottle of sherry at his own personal bar. Fading light streamed down from skylights was also the cowboy’s handiwork, as they were disguised to look like the rest of the shingles and paneling on the roofing. Outside these walls, he was but a myth to the world. Inside...Spy felt like he was back in the old bars in his sleepy French town.

His back stiffened when he heard a gentle knocking on his door. He remained that way, poised and silent under the soft crooning of the Austrian symphony he had put under the needle earlier; it made the tension poetic. Spy turned himself on socked heels which carried him in a soundless creep across old rugs and frigid concrete. He cast a glance down to his shoes beside the door and then to the barrier itself, pressing himself against the slab without making it creak. Spy took his chance to rest his ear against it.

He thanked his lucky stars that there hadn’t been an ensuing bang that came next but instead a low rumble on the other side, as if his visitor was clearing their throat. Spy knew the specific pitch well enough that his hand moved to the knob without even a second thought.

Heavy was standing there like a dark mountain in the doorway. He wasn’t wearing his vest, Spy noticed. The giant likewise saw that his rogue had forgone his blue waistcoat as well. They stared at each other in a silence before Heavy upheld the rules between them by lifting up his shirt.

If it had truly been the RED Spy he had been dealing with again, Heavy would have expected another flinch of disgust coming from the Frenchman at his gesturing. If he had been right, then he would have taken his chance to mock the little rat for being the true pervert, in that he would have had to have been in the team showers to even know that the BLU Heavy had a fat leech of a scar just below his ribs- an old boar hunting injury from his youth.

To his delight, Heavy watched his partner cocking his head with an amused chuff.

“Yes, it is indeed you.” Spy reached out and patted the pudgy belly, admiring the true muscle that tightened beneath it.

Heavy chuckled and lowered his shirt, but he stopped himself before he could take a step.

“Have done Spy-Check. Now is you.” He crossed his arms to prove his point. He leaned in close to his chuckling rogue, trying not to grin himself as he watched Spy remove one of his gloves and brought his middle finger up to his face. It pressed against one of his dull blue eyes and popped the colored lens back with it as Spy lowered his hand, showing the real brown irises he actually had. Heavy always found the irony rather handsome- of his BLU Spy having brown eyes. The RED Spy had those striking blue hues that were stark against his reddish brown suit.

“Good. Is you.” The Russian confirmed. Spy nodded while placing the lens back in. Even if the colors weren’t as shiny, they fooled even their own team. 

“Likewise.” Spy gave a few exaggerated blinks to make sure both lenses were leveled. He wore them almost every hour of every day to give the impression that he was identical to his rival. He smiled and stepped aside with a gesture. “Come.”

Heavy almost elbowed him as he nearly squashed himself through the thin doorway. He sighed and placed his hands on his hips, admiring the view.

“Is good space. Am wondering who helped.” He made a show of rubbing his chin while he felt Spy slinking up next to him.

“Ah, just some hired muscle that was found off the bus. Nobody important.” The rogue flipped a hand as he returned to his minibar. “Now, pardon my French…” He chuckled as he poured a glass, “But what the hell was he doing here at this hour and how did you get to him first?”

Heavy noticed the Frenchman’s shoes by the door and took a moment to kneel down to untie his boots.

“Red Spy was sloppy. Is smart, alert BLU Spy losing his skills?” He grinned as he placed his own shoes by the other pair, out of courtesy. He was examining the rec room’s spare billiards table when Spy returned. Heavy gave a polite wave to dismiss a glass when it was offered, instead enjoying the high of seeing his own assassin looking so amused.

“That a thick Russian of all things could outpace me? Perhaps I am.” He set both glasses onto the edge of the playing table and retrieved a pool stick. 

Heavy would have been bristling at the jab if the circumstances between them had been different. Instead, he rolled his wrists to crack them before he gripped the edge of the table and observed the billiards.

“Was teaching weak Spy good lesson.” He clarified. Spy just chuffed while he reached for a chalk cube near one of the pockets.

“That explains all the hissing, then.” He was eyeing the cue ball while chalking the tip of his stick. “Is that the type of assassin being hired these days? Pitiful.” He leaned down to align himself to the level of the ball.

Heavy watched, not so much interested in the classic pub game as he was in taking notes of all the ways Spy both flattened and locked himself into a killing lunge. It made him wonder if this was how his rogue also looked when he was in his disguises, waiting until his quarry’s back was turned before rearing back like a cobalt cobra. The pose looked so refined and graceful in its deadliness...Heavy found himself slowly inching closer, pressing his luck.

“Red Spy dropped important watch. Kind and generous Heavy helped give it back.” He said. He was almost elbow to elbow with the other man, who had halted halfway through his strike to blink, huff through his nose and stand up. They exchanged side glances with each other while pretending to observe the billiards, knowing they were wearing each other’s grins without having to check: Heavy looked smug and proud and Spy was enthralled from the information.

“Did he now? That gives me more ammunition.” He looked at the tight space between them as Heavy coughed.

“Is room safe?”

Spy nodded and was pulled into a side embrace as he heard a loud exhale.

“Was his act good?” He asked while he cautiously rested his cheek against a thick rib. He was still getting used to these things, of fond gestures and tender holds. Spy felt Heavy’s large hand stroking his shoulder as the Russian hummed.

“Da. Almost passed as real thing.” Heavy chuckled. “Not perfect- found out fast.”

He could feel the thin weight of the Frenchman pressing up against his side. He knew Spy was listening intently, or at least to the best of his ability while giving the cheap cotton shirt a firm face rub.

“Do tell.” The rogue purred.

Heavy smiled, knowing there was a twinkle to Spy’s eye even if it couldn’t be seen. Any opportunity given to the boisterous BLU giant to show off his detective skills meant for a chance to impress the resident sneak- to outfox the fox.

“True BLU Spy has brown eyes.” He started, even though he could look down to see the contradiction. On pretty much any public occasion he saw the dull blue lenses hiding the rather handsome colors he only saw on truly intimate occasions, meant only for him. Heavy had found out the secret of his Spy’s eyes only a few weeks ago, after one of their many nights of musing in the rec room and when hands came too close to each other. Heavy became so lost in recounting the magic that he took a moment to realize he really was staring into his teammate’s own gaze, now that Spy was actually looking up at him to figure out why he paused. Heavy flinched and blinked back to reality before grinning, sheepish.

“Handsome eyes.” He rubbed the back of his head. He wanted to say they weren’t as shiny as the RED’s sinister glares but he didn’t need to; he appreciated the warmth of his partner’s.

“Cute.” His rogue mused and returned to using Heavy as a cushion. Heavy could tell that Spy was smiling just from the lift in his tone, and even though he was on the wrong side, Spy could definitely pick up the distant thumps of the Russian’s strong heart. 

“Da. Yes.” Heavy continued, watching with a fond gaze. “True Spy also never bangs on doors.” He looked down at those black-clad hands. He knew that even when his own Spy was at his snapping point, he always did a backhanded knuckle tap that reflected his dignity. This observation earned him a quiet laugh from the Frenchman.

“Another good point, but neither are your remarks particularly damning.” Spy lightly knuckled one of Heavy’s ribs to prove a point. “A habitual man can break his knocking style just once. Further-” 

“But RED Spy does not know of my scar.” Heavy spoke slowly again and Spy knew it was not out of a degrading tone. The larger man was trying to speak more clearly and remember proper English rules. “So, RED Spy must not know you have brown eyes. If he does not know these, then simple knocking trick he does not know.” 

At this point Spy turned in his hold to look up at him again. He had a comical expression on his face as he puzzled out Heavy’s statement. His brows furrowed in a manner that made him look especially precious but Heavy wasn’t going to point that out. 

“...You are correct on those points. Good work.”

Heavy beamed, proud of himself. This was the type of banter that he enjoyed, this dance of blades between their tongues that allowed him to show off his wisdoms and gave his Spy the freedom to relax and play back. 

At this point he felt Spy slipping gracefully from his embrace and began sauntering back to the minibar, telegraphing the supposed idea that the he was losing interest. It was all just part of their unique new bond- a secret game of informants and assassins. Heavy followed him. 

His Spy liked to act like his rival out on the battlefield to give the idea he was a mean son of a bitch to be trifled with, but Heavy also played a solid deception game too. He looked lumbering and stupid but like the RED’s muscle, he was no fool either. More chatty, yes. Playful to annoying others? Tonight, definitely. He was just an old country boy who grew up talking to birds and deer for companionship in the mountains; anyone who listened excited him. As such, it didn’t take him long to eagerly slip up behind him.

He loomed behind the smaller man, which was a fatal mistake to the enemy Spy but a baiting game for his own. The Russian was shadowing the Frenchman, paralyzing him under that great shadow. Heavy leaned down to take his smell and smiled. There it was, that particular cocktail of scents that was distinct and yet so utterly, uniquely his Spy. The musk of expensive cologne, the light softness of hair powder, the sweet kiss of a delicate rose tonic...there was a deeply satisfying purr that funneled out of his belly and through his nostrils, billowing right onto the deep blue mask below them.

“Poor mistaken Spy cowered when I did this.” His slow drawling reminded him to steady himself, to speak clear and confident. He watched Spy’s fingers curling into his fists while his shoulders lifted and tensed. It wasn’t a position of disgust nor fear but of flattery and Heavy was thankful for the shifting of those thin arms so he could loop his own under them and bring Spy back to him in a tender hug.

“He is a lady’s man.” Spy tutted, his hands over Heavy’s. The black gloves reminded the Russian of fox paws.

“You are man’s man.” Heavy countered, his lips pressing against a masked ear while he shared the laugh that came from Spy. They were both degenerates and sinners, no better nor worse than the other misfits they worked for and fought against every day. If his Spy was really a man’s man then he had picked his prize well, for there was no manlier man around than his Heavy.

They were quiet for a moment.

“He will have that intelligence on you now.” Spy reminded him. Heavy just shrugged and paid more attention to the soft fabric of the navy vest under his fingers.

“I fear nothing. What can puny RED Spy do? Seduce rival Heavy?” He barked out a laugh and Spy snickered too. Heavy imagined himself wearing a wig and lipstick. Spy mused at his rival trying to look convincing while holding a bouquet.

Their quiet musings were quickly spun into the light strings of the orchestral music that Heavy now noticed. It was a fanciful tune, reminding him of the forests back home in springtime and he did his best to hum along with the pleasant notes despite not knowing the order. He remembered his grandmother listening to symphonies like this and he recalled how often he used to replay the sounds of violins in his head whenever he went hunting with his father. The Russian wilds were cold and brutal, where any sane man would be reduced to a slobbering mess who ate his own shoes if not for his own tricks.

The longing of home was made more sentimental when he felt Spy beginning to rock with him. Heavy had to wonder what the winters and forests of France were like, and if Spy had missed them just as heavily.

True to the rogue’s nature, Spy had twisted himself within Heavy’s arms as if in a pirouette. His hands were smaller, thinner and remarkably tight in grip as his fingers fanned across Heavy’s immense chest to claw at his shirt. They looked at one another, the bear and his fox. Heavy furrowed his brows and Spy nodded, giving him his chance.

Heavy’s hands slipped away from Spy’s upper back, one sliding downwards to cup just above his rear while the other removed a glove from his chest to hold it. In moments like this, he was reminded of how easily he could hurt someone like Spy if he wasn’t careful. He had to close his eyes to control his breathing when the hand on his chest lightened and instead gave the space a tender cup.

If this had been their first encounter under these circumstances, Heavy would have been terrified again of making the wrong move. It had only been weeks since he had followed the cues to even try his chances, afraid of assumptions and feeling silly that this refined, cultured man would want a brute like him. There were common jokes about what men did to each other when cooped up for too long without women; he had heard that the rival Heavy was doing sinful things with his own Medic. 

“You want to dance?” He had to ask. He was no sissy, but he felt like he was walking in a dream.

His Spy looked up at him with kind eyes and a gentle smile, so utterly different from the callous and sneering counterpart in RED that it reminded him of just how good his acting skills were. Out there in the blood and dust, it was hard to tell them apart.

“Is it obvious?” The Frenchman chuckled. “Pardon.” He slipped out again without issue and began removing his gloves as he moved to the table with the phonograph on it. Heavy took his time to instead look around the room again, figuring all it was missing was a fireplace and maybe a mounted animal head. 

When Spy returned, he pressed up to the giant’s chest again and returned his hands to where they had been resting. Both men resumed their positions and Heavy had to stand and marvel at Spy’s soft brown eyes that were now back on show. He let go of Spy’s hand to gingerly trace along the seam of his balaclava, but the rogue stopped him.

“Not yet.” Spy smiled but it was tinged with discomfort. Heavy nodded and moved back to lace their fingers together again. 

Not yet, but at least they could dance. His own footwork was sloppy and he was afraid that his lumbering would step on the thinner man’s toes but Spy’s swaying helped guide him. Their slow rocking turned and strayed, becoming more graceful pivots and rotations as the music carried them. Heavy watched Spy with great fondness while Spy had his eyes closed, humming so quietly to the building aria that he looked confident the other couldn’t hear him. 

While they spun, Heavy took advantage of his peeping time to let his thoughts stray. There was a fancy globe by the phonograph and a padded sofa across from them. He looked at the faded rug beneath their feet and remembered how Spy had scrutinized every sample in the rec room to find the least faded specimen. As they both crept closer to the minibar and its adjoining wall, Heavy could get a better look at old photographs and newspaper clippings pinned to a corkboard. He could see ticket stubs and pages from what looked to be a playbill, beneath preserved headlines of theater productions and a photo of a troupe outside of a homely building in a cobblestone street. One of the men looked curiously familiar…

He felt Spy’s head resting against his chest again. Glancing down, Heavy had the impression that they both were looking at the same thing.

“Do you miss it?” The Russian asked and the Frenchman nodded. 

“Oui. As much as you miss yours.”

Out here in the dessert, it was only them and blood money. There was no honor out here, no comforts of home. As Heavy kissed the top of his head, Spy knew he would just have to make due until either his contract ended or he was being carted out in a box. He sighed against the big man’s chest and tapped his fingers against the warm, pudgy belly against his cheek.

“You continue to impress me,” He felt that he had his turn now to be sentimental. “I figured someone as kind as you would be anywhere else but here.” He could hear Heavy humming above him.

“Can’t pay the world in kindness.” The giant said sadly, but they both paused as another knock came from the door. Heavy looked down to Spy as he felt him tightening up in his hold. 

The visitor waited for a few seconds before speaking.

“It’s just me.” The unmistakable western drawl of Engineer made both of their shoulders ease. “I heard a commotion and figured it was Soldier havin’ a fit with the bucket, so I just wanted to mosie around and make sure y’all are good.”

Spy narrowed his eyes as Heavy rocked with him again. He wrapped his arms around the big man’s neck and chuffed.

“Really now?” Even outside the door, he just knew the mechanic was playing humble. 

“Yessir. The peach pudding is mighty good tonight.” Came a response so bizarre that Spy gave a small smile at Heavy’s bemused reaction. It took the big man a few seconds before he caught on and shook his head. Damn Spies. They made everything so complicated. Spy certainly did, from how he hissed and writhed from the loud cheek kisses he was suddenly receiving.

“Bah. So I heard-” He palmed at Heavy’s face, grimacing at how small it looked as the Russian laughed into it. 

“Heh. Well, I have a feeling I don’t need to worry about you nor the big guy, I figure.” Engineer was practically grinning from his tone and it made Spy go red under his mask. “I’m gonna go see where the rest are, make sure they’re hunkered down fine. You take care now.” 

Heavy waited until he couldn’t hear footsteps before he burst out into a snickering fit against Spy, who he was holding less like a lover and more like a wet cat. 

“You didn’t even try to hide yourself!” He heard the smaller man hiss and he just nodded with a dumb smile on his face. 

“I said I am not afraid.” He insisted and tried to go in for another kiss. Spy shoved at his face again and rolled his eyes as Heavy pressed on and nudged by to kiss his forehead. “Relationship is new, but exciting.”

“You might need to watch your back now…”

Heavy was hugging him so fondly by now that he was aware that Spy’s feet were no longer touching the floor. He gave a small sway from side to side, feeling the Frenchman’s toes tapping against his shins.

“Heavy is smart. He knows sweet, handsome good Spy loves him.” His teasing fell after he said the forbidden word and he tilted his head just enough to read his partner’s face. Spy was glancing at him from the corner of his eye from where his face rested against a large shoulder; he almost looked ready to bite it.

“...you are too smart for your own good. You can Spy-Check just by knowing how someone knocks.” He grumbled.

Heavy kissed his forehead again and Spy sighed. This time it sounded more affectionate, much to the giant’s relief.

“Your Heavy is smarter than that.” He purred against his ear and closed his eyes when Spy cupped his cheek out of affection this time. He turned his face to trace his lips around the long fingers. “Mm. Knew Red Spy at first glance.”

He felt himself stiffening all the way down to his toes after he closed his eyes to feel warm lips against his free cheek. To know that he truly hadn’t offended his otherwise calm partner during that tease warmed the chill in his heart. 

“It was his smell.” His rogue purred against his ear. Heavy laughed into the itchy fabric along Spy’s neck.

“Yes, but no. Knew before that too.”

He had to fight to keep his smile innocent as Spy nosed his cheek. He mourned the loss of the dainty hand on his other after it was pulled away. Spy pushed himself back to grip his shoulders and look at him quizzically, trying to find the answer in those fond blue Russian eyes.

“If you tell me it’s only because of his eyes-”

“Nyet.” He tapped Spy on the nose and lowered him back to the carpet. It was much more dignified to stand like equals so he could lean in to be nose-to-nose with a man thought by many to be unshaken. He shuffled his feet to guide Spy backwards, back to the pool table in a subtle push that wasn’t unnoticed. Despite the good humor to his expression, Spy’s eyes looked shinier than normal, as if he were preparing to tell a joke.

“His charm struck you.” He looked suspicious despite his smiling. Heavy simply hummed as it made his belly shake from his amusement. He looped an arm around Spy’s lower back and gave their noses a sweet nuzzle as he reached up to grab the chain over the hanging light above them.

Before the light clicked off, he saw the shine again in Spy’s eyes as the rogue dropped his serious act and began grinning as devilishly as Heavy did. They both shared a triumphant laugh and he knew Spy was now standing up on his toes to reach his mouth as Heavy made his final confession.

“Is simple. BLU Spy doesn’t own Dead Ringer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 is actually about 95% finished, as I just need to make some edits and reread everything to adjust the flow. I intend to upload it within the next few days. :)


End file.
